The Tooth Collector (and Other Tales of Terror) (2 page)

It smiled, exposing its putrid black gums,
and looked Cynthia straight in the eyes. Its own eyes glittered
like ruby marbles inside the darkness of the hood. It tucked the
tooth inside the long black robe it wore beneath the cloak and
then, atom by atom, particle by particle, the figure dissipated
into thin air, fading like a desert mirage.

Cynthia, still in shock, could only hug her
knees and cry, thinking,
She came back to find the tooth. It's
all my fault. I should have been watching.

Cynthia held the baby tooth. Teardrops rolled
down her face and smeared her faded makeup. She wiped her eyelids
with the back of her hand, leaving a trail of mascara and eyeliner
on her cheek.

She reached out to grasp the tooth between
her thumb and index finger. She felt the smooth porcelain, the
roughness of the underside. This wasn't the tooth that Kya had gone
searching for the day of the car accident. That particular tooth
had never turned up at the scene, a thought that sent a chill down
Cynthia's spine as she remembered the bony fingers reaching out to
pluck it from her daughter's lifeless hand.

No, this tooth was special. It was the first
one Kya had ever lost. They had saved it in a glass container with
the word “Memories” painted in red cursive letters on the lid.

Cynthia snorted, a miserable half-chuckle as
she slowly shook her head. She used to hate handling these odd
little body parts, but now it was all she had left. A deep wail
seized her, rattling her shoulders. This was the first time she had
cried in days. She had tucked her feelings away on the ride home
from the hospital that fateful day, alone, without Kya. Now she sat
at the foot of her unmade bed in the white slip she had worn
beneath her funeral dress, makeup from three days ago smeared at
haphazard angles from wiping her overdue tears.

All through the funeral service, she had
wondered if there was something wrong with her. And then,
afterward, as family and friends gathered together, sobbing in
huddled groups, she felt as if the hushed voices were gossiping,
accusing her.
Why is she not crying? What kind of mother is
she?

Something had snapped inside Cynthia at the
sight of her child's casket. Her sanity was like a rubber band
fastened to a brick. Her mind strained under the weight of her
loss, the proverbial rubber band stretched thin by the image of
Kya's six year old body lying dead. And then more bricks were
added: making phone calls, planning the funeral, having to carry on
like a functional human while she'd lost all desire to live. The
rubber band inside her mind was pulled tighter and tighter
until—
snap
. She went numb. She couldn't cry.

Until now.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the
memories. A tear drop fell from her cheek. It splashed silently
against the tooth she gripped in her fingers.

When she opened her eyes, a cloaked figure
stood a few feet from the end of her bed. The cloak it wore
ruffled, as if stirred by a breeze, its black robe billowing in the
stillness of the bedroom. The long tangles of black hair, streaked
with strands of white and gray, seemed to dance on a mystical
draft. A feeling of sadness and misery pulsated from the figure as
it stood in a whirlwind of dark energy.

She scooted back toward the headboard,
putting as much space as possible between her and the strange
presence that blocked the door.

“I can return her to you,” it spoke in a
deep, haunting growl. The wet tongue smacking against its toothless
gums made the voice sound almost mortal, but the way it filled her
mind, the words echoing through her thoughts, caused every hair on
her body to stand up.

Cynthia gulped. There was no need to ask
pointless questions such as “Return who to me?” She knew exactly
what the ghostly visitor was proposing. The thought disgusted her.
She squeezed her eyelids shut tight and wrapped her fingers around
the bed post, repeating a mantra: “You're not real; you're not
real; you're not real.”

“Oh, but I am real. And I can return her to
you. She will breathe. She will grow. Blood will pump through her
veins. She will behave as she always did, age like any other child.
She'll be every bit the girl she was before. I promise you.” The
dark entity moved closer without taking a step, hovering with the
end of its robes barely brushing the floor.

“Impossible,” Cynthia managed to whisper as
fear clenched her windpipe.

The entity stopped its advance. It was
motionless aside from the evil wind that churned around it, adding
madness to its rotten aura. Loud, maniacal laughter filled the
bedroom, reverberating off the walls. It rattled the picture
frames. One fell to the floor, cracking the glass. The laughter
bellowed through her mind, bouncing off the inside of her
skull.

“What do you know of impossible?!” A pointed
nose, like the beak of a predatory bird, jutted from the shadows of
the hood, followed by two blood red eyes that held her captive with
a frightening stare. “My task is impossible. Collecting teeth from
the children.”

Cynthia arched an eyebrow. “Who are you?”

The dark presence ignored her question,
continuing instead with its own line of thought. “The children,
they wish to make offerings to me. They want me to collect their
teeth. But the parents, they lie. They put the teeth in the
garbage, leaving false gifts beneath their slumbering heads.” The
stranger paused, forming a steeple with its alabaster fingers.
“That beautiful tooth your daughter offered me, and the sacrifice
she made to deliver it... I was touched.”

Cynthia's heart raced. “You monster. Don't
speak of her. Don't think of her. I banish you back to Hell where
you belong!” She wasn't done speaking, but when she closed her
mouth, her upper and lower jaw fused shut. It was as if her teeth
had been super glued together. She worked her jaw, trying
desperately to pull her teeth apart, but it was fruitless. She
couldn't speak another word.

“Funny you should mention Hell. I was there
once.” The menacing figure moved closer. A sour feeling emanated
from the air that swirled around it, like a force field of
wickedness ever stirring its long hair and heavy garments. The
raspy, baritone words, accented by a wet, smacking tongue echoed
through her head as its voice filled the room. “I was a sinner in
my mortal life. A heartless man with no soul.” Cynthia shrunk as
close to the headboard as she could manage. One of her hands
gripped the bed post, and the other still clutched Kya's tooth in a
balled fist.

“I was a collector in my old life, much like
I am today. But back then, I did it for pleasure. I took the
children... oh, so many children. I snatched them from their
parents, locked them away. I removed their teeth, one by one, just
to watch them writhe in pain.”

Cynthia moaned in terror. She closed her
eyes, repeating the mantra in her mind.
You're not real; you're
not real; you're not real.
The creature's voice was louder than
her thoughts. It continued...

“Now if I wish to find a moment of rest and
escape my existence of misery and pain, I must collect enough teeth
to triple those that I stole. That is my punishment, to dwell in
the deepest state of sorrow until my collection is complete. I
cannot take the teeth by force. They must be offered to me as gifts
from the innocent children of the world.”

Cynthia opened her eyes. She sucked a
startled breath through her nose. The dark presence floated inches
from her face, its red eyes set deep in its withered face like
sunken rubies. It squinted, and the dark circles beneath its eyes
were like shadowy half moons. “I am a restless soul, haunting the
realm between Hell and Earth.” A long, curved nose hung over its
thin lips as it grinned, the smile nothing more than a black hole
in the darkness of the hood. “You can call me the tooth fairy,” it
said.

Tears streamed from her eyes as she strained
the muscles of her jaw, fighting to open her mouth. She wanted to
scream in its face.
What do you want from me?

It pointed at her closed fist. “I want the
tooth,” it said. Cynthia looked at her hand. It was clenched so
tight that sweat oozed from her palm. Her brow furrowed as she
considered its request. “I know it means the world to you, so I
will make an offer. If I return your daughter—the living,
breathing, innocent Kya—will you promise me the tooth?”

Cynthia's blue eyes were wide. Her whole body
shook. The muscles in her mouth relaxed, and she could mover her
jaw, her upper and lower teeth no longer stuck together. Everything
inside her screamed and argued against the word that escaped her
lips next. “Yes.”

Her stomach flip flopped, and her vision
dimmed as the lights in the bedroom flickered. And just as quickly
as the word “yes” left her mouth, the hideous creature
vanished.

Cynthia remained still, knees pulled up to
her chest, fingers white around the wooden headboard. Minutes
passed, but she didn't move. She was suspended on a frozen wave of
panic. The telephone rang and she jumped, yelping like a frightened
puppy.

Her hands shook as she picked up the phone
and placed the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

“Cynthia... how are you doing?” Jenny's voice
filled the ear piece.

Cynthia broke down, sobs rolling from her
gut. “Not good, Jen.” Her breathing was panicked. She choked on
saliva, coughing as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I'm not
good...”

“Oh, honey. You are crying. That is good,
don't you see? Let it all out, sweetie... just let it out...”

Cynthia watched the tall, sinister man
through the bars of the cage. His arms jerked in sketchy spasms as
he tightened the ropes, as if sheer madness pumped through his
veins. Firelight glowed across his pale features. His nose, like
the tip of a vulture's beak, cast a thin shadow over his frown.
Long hair was gathered into an unruly ponytail and tied with a
ribbon at the back of his head. Wilds strands framed his gaunt face
as he peered down at his victim.

The little boy fought against his restraints.
His short blonde hair was matted with sweat. Blood dotted the raw
skin around his wrists and ankles. His chest rose and fell with
each frantic breath. He squirmed, his puny body strapped to a
wooden table beneath an intertwining network of thin ropes and
chains. The boy could only whimper, exhausted, and listen to the
fire crackle.

“Done fighting so soon?” The man's voice was
chilling and deep, and a lisp caused his 's' sounds to drag. “I
enjoy watching you struggle.” He stood before a table filled with
shiny silver tools. Orange flames reflected in the steel
instruments as the fire licked at the hearth.

Cynthia wanted to cry out and beg him not to
hurt the boy, but a cloth gag had been shoved in her throat.
Guttural noises escaped her mouth as she grunted in protest, but no
words formed. The dry piece of fabric held in her mouth by a
knotted cloth seemed to suck all the moisture from her tongue.

The man selected a pair of dental forceps
from the table. Firelight gleamed on the polished metal and he
smiled, revealing slick gums ripe with decay. “I never knew my
father. My mother was an absent whore.” He turned toward the boy,
approaching him in long strides. “Gum disease left me toothless by
age twenty-two.” He stepped closer, and the boy's eyelids
disappeared as he stared wide-eyed at the forceps.

“My only comfort is the suffering of others.”
He pulled the gag from the frightened child's mouth. The boy's
cries filled the chamber, bringing a smile to the man's face. “Ah,
it's like music to my ears.”

The boy tried to fight back. He turned his
head to the side, but the man was too strong. He held his tiny head
in place with one lanky hand as the pliers descended. The metal
grips locked around an incisor, and his entire body jolted with
pain. Blood spurted from the tender, pink gums as the tooth was
deposited into a jar. One of many jars that lined the dirty
shelves, every one of them filled with teeth.

Cynthia couldn't help but scream. It came out
as a pathetic, muted whine, muffled by the gag in her mouth. It was
enough to catch the madman's attention. He turned his dark,
menacing eyes on her, and smiled that empty smile.

Then he laughed and pointed the bloody
forceps at her. “For every joy there is a sorrow. Sacrifices must
be made. You are next!”

Cynthia gasped. She bolted upright in bed.
Sweat trickled down her spine and beaded on her forehead. A strip
of light shined through a gap in the curtains. It was morning. She
was in her own bed. Cynthia fell back onto her pillow,
relieved.

The nightmare again. The same dream that
haunted every night of sleep since making a promise to the dark
stranger months ago. In the dream, she was locked inside a cage and
forced to watch children plead for mercy at the hands of a monster.
Tears rimmed her eyes. She didn't know what frightened her more:
the heartless acts committed in those dreams, or the promise she
had made to the monster who committed them.

She rolled over and rubbed the hard bulge at
her midriff. Over the passing months, her abdomen had stretched to
the size of a beach ball. She could feel little kicks and punches
if she rested her hand there. It gave her a reason to keep
living.